Another three days passed. The ghosts returned from their outward work, robes dulled at the hems, their motions still crisp, so they would not be discovered as not of the living.
In Radeon's new stone pavilion, Calyx sat across from him. The Preta's composure tried to hold, but anxiety kept leaking through the cracks.
A pot of tea steamed between them, untouched. The scent of bitter leaves hung in the air like a question no one wanted to answer first.
"Lord Radeon," Calyx said, "may I ask whether my efforts met with your approval?"
Radeon did not reach for the cup. His gaze stayed on Calyx, steady and unhurried.
"What's your guess?"
Calyx hesitated, then let honesty slip.
"I cannot help but think we might have spared more lives."
Radeon shook his head before Calyx could build excuses on top of regret.
"Tell me, Calyx. What happens if you hand those manuals to the medics?"
